


Summer

by ianixela



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo is a sweetheart, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Food Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mild Blood, Reylo - Freeform, sad rey is sooo sad, this one is sad but the end is nice bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianixela/pseuds/ianixela
Summary: Rey is too young.Too young when she marries to an older man she doesn't love.Too young when she moves in that big empty house.Too young and she yet she feels a million years old.Rey might be too young, but Ben Solo is just her age though.And he's just moved next door.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Well well, have some more adultery angst I guess?!?! I’m messed up but I just love a tragic love story between people who shouldn’t date. I have a cheating kink LOL. I love writing funny/cute Hux but he’s mean in this one, it works I guess since mean Hux is canon. I’m not making the ending sad tho, it’s only half-sad? Sad lite? Idek…  
> Also, no big age gap between Rey and Ben this time, they’re roughly the same age. Both young and dumb.
> 
> Some warnings: AU, adultery, domestic abuse and non-con (its not super graphic, implied really, but could definitely be triggering), sex, angst, alcohol mentions/abuse, adult themes and language. TW for sad Rey. Food porn involving oysters...yeah. Please mind the tags!

Sometimes she’ll drive aimlessly for miles just not to have to deal with reality.

Rey married too young.

Moved into a neat, prim, neighbourhood with green lawns and cypresses, too young.

A great big house, the white picket fence deal, where she feels so alone.

Where she drinks whiskey at three in the afternoon because she has no idea what to do with herself.

Laughs when Hux finds her listless on the patio, too wrecked to even move. Sun burning freckles on her cheeks.

And yet, he wants a baby with her.

It's all he wants. He thinks it could fix them.

If only he knew how much she doesn’t want any of that life but she realized long ago that to refuse him makes her life worse than it already is.

She agrees to his demand, hiding her birth control pills in that tiny bathroom in the basement where no one ever goes.

She hopes that after enough failure he’ll let it go.

She’s too young and yet she feels a thousand years old.

* * *

The new neighbours have a son.

Moved in two weeks ago, a great big truck and people to and fro. Noisy. Waking her from her Wednesday afternoon whiskey stupor.

She curses them and goes back to sleep in her backyard hammock.

But the week after the son comes out, to mow the lawn, as she goes out to get the mail.

He’s tall.

All legs, lanky, but there’s a broad muscularity to his shoulders, arms flexing when he pushes the mower up the little slope towards the porch.

His hair is lush ebony, a little long and wild like he’s slept with his hair wet and it's endearing.

It _would_ be endearing if his face hadn’t been this beautiful.

Sharp jawed, deep eyed, cheekbones catching the sunlight.

Skin pale gold, like the sun only wants to make him more beautiful, touching him carefully.

He waves at her and his smile is white, uneven and lovely, so _earnest_ and she feels like returning the gesture would probably taint him.

Rey goes back in the house, acts as if she hasn’t seen him.

Later when she submits to her husband’s desire, head clouded with alcohol, she thinks about how she’d much rather be underneath the neighbour’s son.

* * *

Sometimes she runs in the morning.

It's one of the few things keeping her sane.

Running.

Driving.

Drinking.

Her list of hobbies is dismal and yet, they are lifesaving.

She races through the morning haze, down the beaten trails of the nearby woods, dew soaking her sneakers and shins, breath hot.

Sweat pearls on her skin, midsummer heat already creeping up from the mossy earth.

She nearly runs into somebody going down the trail, so lost in her own head that she hasn’t even seen him. He catches her across the waist to keep her from falling, her head spinning from the mild impact.

The neighbour’s son.

He’s wearing dark shorts and sneakers and no shirt, skin sweat glossed. Headphones dangling off his neck and his smile is boyish and welcoming and she feels so self conscious.

She probably looks like death.

“Hey.”

His voice is low, reedy.

Muscles in his chest flex when he straightens her up.

His scent is clean boy sweat and pine needles, hay, summer.

She feels dizzy, close enough to count his lashes.

“Hey.” she makes herself reply and hates how unsure her voice sounds.

Always unsure, always small, always insignificant.

It's why it was so easy for Hux to make her marry him. She didn’t know better. She didn’t know her worth.

He’d always made her feel like she’d never do better and she’d believed him.

Still believes him. It's the reason she’s still there.

“I’m Ben.” he offers, unfazed by their closeness and her silence.

“Rey.” she replies, still feeling a little dizzy when she steps back.

“I’ve met your husband I think, Mr. Hux? He came by the house last week.”

“Yeah. He’s a lot more social than I am.” she replies, trying not to look at him and his near nakedness.

“You like to run?” Ben asks, sounding genuinely interested.

It shocks her, that someone would actually take any interest in her.

Rey has no friends here. Only neighbours that never speak to her if she isn’t with her husband. 

Too young. The businessman with the trophy wife, barely out of her teenage years. And what a trophy, idle and intoxicated more often than not. She feels so alone, and she can’t lose anything by speaking a few minutes with Ben, can she?

“I did track in college, but I always liked long distance running the best.” she replies, trying to look at his face instead of his feet and surprising herself when she manages.

His flushed cheeks are beautiful. His smile even more so.

“I did track in college too! I played basketball on the varsity team…”

“With your height it must’ve been easy.”

He chuckles, a low, fluted sound, flushes deeper.

“I wasn’t trying to boast or anything.”

She feels herself smile. It's been so long it almost feels weird, unused muscles stirring back to life.

“I know.”

He scratches the back of his head, blissfully unselfconscious of how it makes every muscle in his torso stretch and flex underneath smooth, fair skin.

“So, I’ve noticed you run a lot, and I was wondering if you’d like some company? I mean…I’m just…”

He stammers and she wonders if he’s actually nervous about her. If she’s causing this and she feels a little something stirring inside her. Something she thought was long gone.

Echoes of self confidence.

“You’re lonely?” she offers.

“Kinda. I’m here with my parents for the summer. And they’re always gone to the lake house, freshly retired you know? I stay here not to be in their way. I was supposed to have an internship but it didn’t pan out and yeah…please. I’m going out of my mind out here. I need to speak to a sane human here and there.”

She snorts at that.

“You probably picked the least sane person in the neighbourhood.” she replies, hoping it doesn’t scare him off.

Because she could use the company of a sane person too.

He grins.

There’s something dangerous to that slight twist of lips. Something that makes her stomach roil in the best possible way.

“I think we’re gonna get along then.”

* * *

It's a long hike to the lake.

Ben is tireless, and so is she, now that they’ve decided on that particular adventure for the day.

They hike all the time, out and off when the sun is still low in the sky and the dew thick.

The whiskey bottle in the kitchen cabinet stays untouched.

She has more freckles than ever.

She’s learned to smile again. A few hours with Ben makes her cheeks hurt.

She looks at his silhouette ahead, broad shoulders, hair curling with the humid heat, dark against the green of the forest, feels like she would probably follow him anywhere.

He takes her small hand in his big one when she lags behind, tugging at it playfully, but he doesn’t let go.

Keeps their fingers loosely tangled. It feels right, like her hand belongs in his.

The lake is silvery blue, and deserted.

No one knows about this place, and it feels like they’re alone in the world.

It's an exhilarating feeling, when they jump in the cool water fully dressed, splashing and laughing.

He teaches her how to ricochet with flat stones, skipping on the quiet water, and then pulls out two beers from his backpack. It’s a little warm but it goes down easy and straight to her head when they lay down on a flat rock to dry in the bright sun.

“We should come here more often.” Ben mumbles, sleepy, and she agrees, nodding against his bare arm where she laid her head.

They sleep the afternoon away, the sun low in the horizon when they wake, hazy and sun drunk.

“Want to head back home?” he asks against her hair, low, sleepy soft.

She’s curled up against him in her sleep, her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her body fits so right against his, she feels like she could die this instant and be happy.

“No, but we probably should.”

Her husband is angry when she gets home.

There is no dinner ready, she hadn’t left a note, he’d worried.

“I just went for a hike, forgot to look at the time. Aren’t you happy I don’t drink myself to death anymore?”

She locks herself in the bathroom to shut him out, steps underneath the showerhead fully dressed.

She hears the engine of his car roaring to life outside. He’ll be gone for the night, like he usually is when he’s pissed at her. It's his coping mechanism.

He’ll come home later, drunk, wanting her, and she’ll have to placate him with her body, and fake apologies.

It's their pattern.

She wishes it was easier to get out of it.

* * *

There’s a bruise on her cheek the next day, and Ben notices.

Too much roughness, violence she hadn’t wanted or craved but had submitted to all the same. It's always easier to submit, when Hux is like this.

Ben isn’t happy about it, he’s not as chatty as he usually is.

They run up the hill in silence, race down to the clearing where tree stumps are a good resting spot, sitting down on a fallen log, breathing hard.

She feels like throwing up the whiskey she’d drank last night to endure what she knew would come. She wishes she’d drank more. It hadn’t numbed her as well as she’d hoped, when her husband pushed her down on the floor to take what he felt was his by law.

Sore all over. Not in a good way.

Ben hands over his water bottle and she takes it thankfully, downs a hefty sip that dribbles down her neck, cold and delicious.

“Why did you marry him?” Ben asks, sitting beside her on the log, thighs touching.

She shrugs.

“I mean, we’re the same age and marrying somebody is such a big deal…I can’t even picture myself in a steady relationship. I feel too young. How have you been married for three years?” he asks, turning his beautiful amber gaze to her.

“I didn’t think I could do better at the time. I was terrified of being alone.” she replies, and it feels sad to her own ears.

“You can _definitely_ do better than a guy who yells at you and beats you up.” Ben hisses, anger seeping in his tone and it makes her cringe.

Anger hurt her yesterday, she doesn’t need anymore of it.

“Don’t get mad, Ben. I mean, it's not like it's gonna change anytime soon.”

“You could divorce him.”

She laughs. So easy in theory.

“I could. And then what? I have almost nothing to my name. I quit school when I got married. I don’t even know how to keep a job…”

“You’re a great writer. You could get published if you wanted.”

She’d studied in literature before getting married.

She’d felt good enough about Ben to make him read her manuscripts, and he had, and his praise had made her heart swell in her chest.

It made her write more in a month than she’d had in the past year, sitting at the computer to type instead of drinking herself into blissful oblivion every night.

And yet thinking that she could get anywhere with it was laughable. To her anyway.

“It's not that easy. It's never that easy…”

He gets up from the log, frustration pouring out of him, dark eyes so bright. All she can think about is how beautiful he looks, and how much she wants him to kiss her.

She doesn’t want to try.

She’s too afraid of how it could end.

It's almost worth the risk but she knows better.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know any better when he pulls her up and close.

So close, too close, tight against his chest and she can’t breathe, it's beautiful.

His lush mouth against her hair.

His skin and its summer scent, the sheer strength of his body against her lithe one and the forest around them like a green cloak, cool and damp.

She’s overwhelmed.

“If only you weren’t married…” he murmurs, hands digging in the small of her back and she can feel his arousal against her belly, hot and hard.

Her pulse soars.

She wants him to take her. Pull her down to the cool forest floor and just cleanse her of that self loathing with his body.

But she’s married.

Married to someone she loathes even more than herself.

“I am. Not that it would stop me, if you wanted…” she doesn’t dare finish her sentence, already neck deep in something she can’t swim her way out of.

“You’re not married to _me_.” he replies, pain bold and sharp in his voice, pulling away.

She doesn’t want to look when he walks away, back from where they came from.

Running away from her.

“Wise boy.” she murmurs to herself.

She only realizes she’s crying when her lungs can’t keep up with her harsh breaths, warm drops on her bare thighs.

At home she finishes the whiskey bottle, swirling colours that make her think of his eyes, wishing the amber liquid in her glass could swallow her whole.

* * *

They don’t go for hikes anymore.

He runs alone down the street, headphones in, face set in hard lines that make him look older than he is.

They cross each other when she’s out getting the mail and he’s mowing the lawn.

He pretends not to see her and she pretends not to care.

Tries to act as if her soul isn’t crushed.

* * *

“Maybe we should see a doctor? I mean this isn’t normal, we've been trying for a year…” Hux mutters against her shoulder, sleepy and languid.

The room is too hot and she feels repulsed at his touch.

She fights the urge to get up.

Run out. Be anywhere from here and having this conversation.

“It takes time sometimes. Not everyone's the same…”

“You’re young and in good health. If only you gained a little weight and maybe stopped drinking that fucking much. You don’t have to go run every fucking morning.”

Rey can hear the anger creeping in his voice and his hands touching her and she’d rather not fuel it by saying anything.

That running and drinking are the only things she looks forward to in this dull, lonely life.

He falls asleep after, leaving her feeling filthy and bruised and she wonders if Ben is awake next door.

If he heard.

If he even cares.

Probably not. Not anymore.

She misses him with all of her being.

She cries without a sound.

* * *

There’s a knock on her door just before noon.

She’s dragged herself out of bed just an hour prior, soaked in a bath until it ran cold and she feels wet and shivery going to the door in a thin dress that barely covers her thin body.

She doesn’t really care. It's probably the mailman with a package.

He won’t be shocked by her wet hair and exposed thighs.

It's Ben Solo on the porch.

Black sweats and a white tee, hair swept across his forehead, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey.” he greets, not meeting her eyes, shuffling nervously, “I need help with something.” he asks, point blank, and she’s too shocked at seeing him on her doorstep to react.

He’s beautiful.

He only seems more beautiful because she hasn’t been close to him in days and she realizes she was missing his presence bitterly.

“What can I help you with?” she replies, and he finally looks up, eyes so bright.

Whiskey pearls in his chiseled face.

“It's gonna sound weird but do you know how to shuck oysters?”

The question is so unexpected it makes her laugh out loud.

“ _What?_ ”

He sighs, shuffles his feet.

“My parents left for the lake house this morning and my mom bought a dozen oysters and they forgot them here. My mom says I should eat them otherwise they’ll go bad but I haven’t got a single idea on how to get them open. So, can you help?”

She does know how to shuck oysters, as it happens. She’d grown up on the East coast of Canada, and her foster mother had loved them.

She wonders why he went through the trouble of coming over to ask her when he simply could’ve called his mother for help. Or checked online. But she doesn’t question him.

It's his way to make amends maybe, and she’s willing to take it.

She’d take anything to have a little of him back.

“Give me a minute I’ll get dressed.”

“You’re fine like this.” he replies, a little too fast, and she laughs, slipping into her flip flops instead.

“Fine, fine…are you starving or something?” she asks, shutting her door behind her.

Outside the sky is overcast and grey, hot humid wind.

A summer storm brewing.

“Yeah there’s like nothing to eat and I’m too lazy to take the car and go grocery shopping.”

Sometimes Ben feels like he’s younger than she is, still a teenager. She remembers that he only acts his age, that it's her that’s grown before her time, forced to mature like a hothouse flower.

Ben’s house is tidy and put together.

Paintings, fresh cut flowers. Little touches that she could never be bothered with.

On the kitchen island lays the platter filled with crushed ice and flat oysters.

“Have you ever had them?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“It's too grown up for me, my parents love them though. I’m willing to try them now I guess, they shouldn’t go to waste.”

She opens a drawer, and another, trying to find the oyster knife. Finds it wedged underneath spatulas and cake knives.

It's a little old and bent but it's sturdy enough.

“Get me a kitchen towel.” she asks and he provides, pulling a blue checkered one from a drawer.

She wedges the cool oyster in the towel, prods at it with the knife, a twist of her wrist and the oyster wedges open.

She hands it over to Ben, who takes it gingerly with careful fingers.

Their hands touch and he tries not to think too much about the current going through them, zapping at her nerve endings,

His skin soft and hot.

“So I just swallow the whole thing?” he asks, observing the insides of the shell, nacreous and pale.

“Yeah. It tastes good.” she replies, prying open another, “like this.”

She tips the shell down her mouth.

Iodine and marine, saltwater flooding her taste buds, fresh, cold, sweet chewiness. Memories of her childhood.

He imitates her, gingerly, chewing, cheeks flushing.

“It tastes like…I mean…”

“Tastes like sex.” she supplies, and his cheeks only get pinker.

“Yeah. It's weird. I like it.”

She laughs, prodding open another shell but the knife slips, digs in her thumb instead and she hisses, pulling back.

“I’m so clumsy…” she mutters, eyeing the damage but before she can do anything he’s taking her hand in his.

Unthinking he brings her thumb to his mouth, sucking the blood.

A drop landing on his full lip, red on dusky pink.

They’re so close she can feel the heat radiating from his body and she’s nearly naked with her thin dress, feeling dizzy with the tide of sudden desire overwhelming her.

It feels like a dream when he pulls her thumb out of his hot mouth and bends to kiss her instead.

It can’t be real. But it is.

It's bright and vibrant and his mouth moves against hers knowingly as he pushes her up against the marble island.

The kiss is ravenous, the coppery tang of blood on his tongue and she feels drunk with it.

When they break apart to breathe he hitches her up on the marble counter like she weighs nothing, his mouth on her jaw, her neck, tilting her back in his arms. Hips between her thighs, strong and firm when she wraps her legs around them.

His mouth burning hot between her breasts, hands pushing down the thin straps of her slip dress to bare her skin.

“I’ve tried…I've tried so _hard_ to keep away…” he hisses against the side of her breast and she buries fingers in his thick hair, urging him closer, wanting more.

“I can’t keep you out of my fucking head, Rey, I want you so bad…”

His mouth burns her inner thigh, her dress pooled around her waist on the cool marble. He kisses the junction of her legs just like he did her mouth, ravenously, her back arching up, his hands raking her body.

He’s not soft, eats her alive like a man possessed, her thighs over his shoulders, pushing his hot tongue inside her cunt and it's exactly what she wants.

What she needs.

To be wanted for herself. To be desired so intensely he can’t even wait for them to be naked to have her shaking and pulsing with pleasure, fucking her with his mouth.

Leaving her gasping and aching to be filled when he pulls away, eyes like blazing embers, pushing the sweatpants down his hips. His cock hard and flushed at the tip, bigger than she’s ever taken before but _fuck_ does she want him, cunt still clenching with pleasure from his tongue.

He pulls her up to kiss her as he fits himself inside, slowly, moaning against her lips.

Stills when he bottoms out, breathing slow.

His mouth tastes like the sea.

He doesn’t move just yet, looks into her eyes like he’s trying to memorize every detail, holding her close, chest to chest, heart hammering.

“I want you… _god_ , I want you…” he murmurs, rubbing her nose with his.

His moves are slower, more careful, hips rolling between her thighs, mouth demanding on hers.

A deeper kiss, slick tongue, measured breath.

She feels like she’s melting underneath him when he lays on top of her on the counter. Cold underneath and burning hot above through the thin layer of his tee.

Pressure building faster and faster with each thrust, each kiss.

His hips angling just right, tireless, sending the pleasure soaring up her spine.

“You’re gonna come like that…Rey?” he pants against her neck and her core pulses in response, making him gasp underneath her jaw.

“Yes… _oh yes_ …don’t stop…” she begs.

Pleasure roils, burns, tears through her, consumes her.

“Ben...oh god _Ben_ …”

He stiffens and curses when he comes, hard and hot, erratic thrusts that make her body pulse in response.

They lay quiet in the aftermath, breathing hard, slow.

She sighs when he straightens, sticky skin, hot lips between her brows.

He’s gentle when he picks her up against him, holds her tight.

“I want more…” he whispers, “Now that I have you I don’t want to stop…”

“Then don’t.”

He doesn’t. Not for a long time.

* * *

Ben’s bed is soft, with pale blue sheets.

They watch the rain pour down in sheets, lightning streaking the sky white and gold through the window, skin against skin.

Ben kisses the skin between her shoulder blades, down her spine, his hands warm on her flank.

He pauses on the small of her back, breathing her in.

She feels him thick and hard against her thigh.

“Again. _Please_.” she asks.

He kisses lower.

She feels like every touch of his heals her.

She’s in dire need of healing.

* * *

They hike to the lake.

Her hand in his.

Beers in his backpack.

They jump in the water naked this time.

They nap on the rock, letting the sun dry their bare skin.

He takes her hard, relentless, her back against sun warmed stone and her small hips in his big hands.

The way his back arches, his head falls back when he comes is beautiful, haloed with blue sky and sunlight. He makes her come too, slowly, relentless. His thumb pressing just right where they are joined and making her world explode with a thousand colours.

He looks like a young forest god.

And she likes being his goddess.

He kisses her in the protective shade of the trees before they head back on the way home, where anyone could see them.

And they do see them together.

And there’s gossip too, but she doesn’t care.

* * *

They make love in the fallen leaves of the clearing.

It's still summer, but fall is in the air, a crisp scent of apples and decay.

Splayed in the yellowed grass and leaves underneath her, eyes incandescent, mouth red and parted, breathing hard.

His hair like the night, spilled against the loamy soil.

His skin is more gold than ever, arching underneath her, coaxing her up and down in his lap with hands that bruise her hips.

He’d been careful about leaving marks at first. Not anymore.

If anything he wants her husband to see, that a man can leave marks on a woman that don’t hurt, that she’ll cherish later, looking at the imprint of his fingers in the bathroom mirror.

He’s hardly ever home anymore, her husband.

She thinks there’s another woman.

It's better that way. Who is she to judge after all.

* * *

“Come with me to the city.”

Ben whispers against the back of her neck, in his darkened bedroom.

His parents are gone for the weekend. Her husband is off on a business trip. Ben knows she needs to be discreet, but he tells her his parents would love her. Would love them together.

It makes her heart hurt.

The only light is the moon through the tall window, silvering the contours of his hand on her breast.

He leaves in a week. Back to university for his last year.

He already has a job lined up after his studies, a good one in his field, up North, close to where she grew up.

He’ll be too far to keep this up if she stays.

She knows their days are counted.

She’s heartbroken.

“I don’t know, Ben.”

He tightens his hold on her, pulls her tight against his chest, mouth pressed to her shoulder.

“You’re miserable here. You don’t love him, you’re living a lie.”

“I know.”

It's hard to tell in the dark, but when he pushes inside her, deep and hot, writhing in his pale sheets, she feels tears against her shoulder, warm and salty.

“You’re mine…” he murmurs against her ear, thrusts faster, stronger.

So deep she can feel the pull and push in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re mine and I love you…”

He means it with all of his heart and it breaks hers to pieces.

Her orgasm is pure euphoria, white heat.

The aftermath is tears and promises Rey doesn’t know how to keep.

* * *

Hux has been gone three weeks when the letter arrives.

He found her birth control pills in the bathroom.

Maybe she left them out for him to find. Maybe.

It's the last straw to a relationship that held on thin air. Sabotaging his selfish desire for progeny.

He leaves.

Doesn’t call, doesn’t reply to texts or emails.

She’s in limbo for three weeks, not sure if she lives or dies. Existing in a daze, a waking dream.

The first letter is a thick manilla envelope.

The divorce papers.

She signs them without really reading them. He can keep everything he paid for, she’s never been a materialist. She never cared for that big empty house.

She owns her clothes and her car, and large enough savings she put away in college, the settlement from the prenup. Enough to live a year, at least. It's more than enough.

The other letter is smaller, a cream envelope.

Her heart races. The note smells like fresh hay and pine needles.

_Home is where the heart is, and your heart is with me. Please come home, my love._

Ben’s beautiful handwriting. Followed by an address up north, in the city.

She’s packed under an hour, stuffs everything she owns in her small car. The house key in a flower pot. She’s never coming back here.

Rey drives through the night fuelled on diner coffee.

Ben is half asleep when she arrives on his doorstep.

A small apartment in a building downtown.

He rubs at his eyes and his hair is sticking out at wild angles, but when he realizes it's her, her feet just stop touching the ground because he’s picked her up in his arms and he’s kissing her like he’s drowning.

The bed is bigger here, and the sheets are dark grey, his summer kissed limbs pale against them.

She is exhausted but desire is stronger than tiredness.

He murmurs his love for her against her skin, in all the ways he possibly can, until they’re too exhausted to move.

Sated and warm, his body heavy and slick over hers.

“Are we going running tomorrow, my love?” she asks against his temple and he grins, mouth finding her jaw.

“Yes. My love. My summer girl…”

“I like the sound of that.” she murmurs, feeling his body roused from slumber.

They’ve been making love for hours and yet, she’s still hungry for him.

“My girl. _Mine_.”

She smiles, feeling too young in the best possible way.

“Always.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Oof I love adultery stories so much, especially when the husband/wife is not likeable LOL I'm the worst. Complete trash. This is my "bare bones" style of writing. I usually write like this just for drafting purposes, sometimes it turns into something noice idk. Anyhoo hope you liked this one, kudos and comments give me life <3 xoxo


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